Lady in Black
by FetishistInMotion
Summary: After defeating Voldemort, Harry is listless and despondent. Ginny has moved on, his best friends are in love, and Harry himself has no prospects. He moves into Grimmauld place and plans on remodeling. The House and it's inhabitants have different plans. The House of Black will rise again, one way or another.
1. Waiting is the hardest part

WARNING:

I do not own or profit from Harry Potter. I am not profiting from this work of fiction. This fan fiction will have mature/adult themes and sexually explicit content. Incest, body modification, dubious consent, m/m slash, and more to be found. If this bothers you, don't bother reading this work. Thanks.

Watching. Waiting. Waiting some more. After a decade or so, the defenses were once again breached by the new Lord. Despicable, disappointing wretch who allowed filth into her home. A disgrace to the most Ancient and Noble House of Black.

Her portrait screeched profanities and spewed forth diatribes against the infiltrators. The ear shattering portrait and the crazed, yet loyal, house-elf were the last defenders of the House.

Then once again, silence. The empty House once again collected dust, cobwebs, and mildew. The House's old bones creaked and groaned, waiting… waiting for the new Master to come claim It. When the new Lord came, Walburga would assist It in claiming and educating them to the exacting Black standards.

Not too many years after the last of the blood-traitors and mud-bloods were driven out, the wards were finally breached by the new Lord. Finally, another chance to build upon the Black name and rise again. A new chance to fill the House with Black's. The House and it's inhabitants, however few, could sense the Black blood in the Lord. However minute, it could, and would, be built upon. Blood always tells as like calls to like. The newest Lord Black would be created in the family seat, the womb of the Black's.


	2. The World's Smallest Violin

WARNING:

I do not own or profit from Harry Potter. I am not profiting from this work of fiction. This fan fiction will have mature/adult themes and sexually explicit content. Incest, body modification, dubious consent, m/m slash, and more to be found. If this bothers you, don't bother reading this work. When brainstorming for this story I was inspired by The Haunting and Rose Red a little. Thanks.

Harry Potter was despondent. Having just spent the last few weeks recovering from defeating a Dark Lord while being picked apart, glorified, and vilified all at once in the public eye, he was still exhausted.

Harry had gone through the emotional ringer, literally. After having lived a life of abuse, hungering for love, affection, and basic human rights, to then be shown a different world where he was boy king of a fickle public, only to be returned to hell every summer had taken it's toll. Dealing with dark lords, death eaters, and dastardly paparazzi had left him an emotional wreck, not to mention the death of just about anyone he considered family. Teddy Lupin came to visit his godfather every other weekend. He had Ron and Hermione, however, they were in the honeymoon phase of their relationship and had no time for his woes. Molly and Arthur were dealing with the death of a child, and Ginny… well she had decided she waited long enough for Harry to come around.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry had poured his heart and soul out to her, outlining a lovely life filled with laughter and a houseful of ginger sprogs. Apparently, Ginny did not long for the same. She had assumed being the lady of the-boy-who-lived would be full of champagne brunches, luxury trips, charity auctions, and the good life (finally). She had finally realized the Great Harry Potter was actually just 'plain old Harry', and did not have a glamorous bone in his body. He was used to dressing in rags, it was pitiful. Ginny acknowledged she may want one child someday, 10 or 15 years down the road. In the meantime she planned on getting drafted into professional quidditch and focusing on self gratification and the pleasurable things in life, definitely not duty to home and hearth. Her mother was disappointed of course, but Ginny needed to focus on herself for the foreseeable future.

Harry was heart broken. He was lonely and so very ready to start a family. Apparently, he was the only one. After inheriting the big old London townhouse from his deceased godfather, Harry was inconsolable rattling around all by his lonesome in the 10 room abode. He could imagine his loving children filling all of the rooms, creating chaos and havoc, making the cold, murky mausoleum feel lived in and homey. Teddy came to visit every other weekend, bringing the sweet sound of baby giggles into the dark halls. That was not scratching the surface of Harry's baby craze. Yet, he had no prospects. He was a nearly 18 year old virginal loner suffering severe depression. He had hoped a fast paced relationship would be just the thing to snap him out of his funk, although it wasn't to be. Hermione told him he needed to see a mind healer, however, was unwilling to further advise him on anything, due to her tongue being shoved too far down Ron's throat.

On an average day, Kreacher and Walburga's portrait were his only companionship. The severe portrait was fractionally less ruffled now that her house was emptied of 'filth', well besides Harry, but she was getting used to him and attempting to teach him proper manners. He was conferring with the last Lady of house Black about the house design back in it's glory days. At first he had planned a more modern, homey design. After living in the house and coming to terms with its previous Lady, he was committed to follow the integrity and original design of the house. It was so full of history, apparently family history as he had some Black blood as well. He was finally feeling a connection, a longing to put down roots and fill the house with the cheer of children once more. After he was finished bringing the house back to it's old glory, he would focus on finding a potential mother for his progeny. He was only 17, he had loads of time.


	3. A gentleman's education

WARNING:

I do not own or profit from Harry Potter. I do not profit from this fictitious story. Adult themes present, including but not limited to: incest, m/m slash, body modification, dubious consent, etc. If you can't handle it, don't read it. Thanks.

Harry flopped onto his new bed, freshly showered and refreshed. He and Kreacher had spent the last few days cleaning out the master suite, kitchen, and living area, which was the least needed for human habitation. Walburga's portrait supervised, of course.

The ridiculously large, newly refurbished bed nearly dwarfed the spacious master suite. Harry's petite body was engulfed by the delectable pillow top mattress, plush coverings, and 800 thread count sheets. Walburga insisted the new Lord Black live high on the hog, so to speak. It was no less than he deserved after the thankless life he had lived, saving the unappreciative masses and serving his horrid muggle relatives for years. Harry was sure Walburga had either changed or Sirius had over exaggerated her awfulness. Perhaps she appreciated Harry's need for her as Sirius had never needed her, and Harry was respectful of her home and sought to bring it back up to snuff. She was very attentive to Harry, ensuring Kreacher fed him and forcing him to take care of himself, teaching him proper etiquette for his new station. Really, he should have learned this years ago. As it was, snubbing Malfoy on the train in first year had tarnished his reputation with his peers. After receiving instruction from Walburga, Harry had offered sincere apologies and peace offerings over his faux pass made in ignorance. The Malfoy's as a family, minus the imprisoned Lucius, had accepted his apologies and in turn had taken him under their protection and tutelage. Harry was making great strides in becoming the titled gentleman he was supposed to be.

As Harry was drifting off into the arms of Morpheus, he glimpsed a dark shadow out of the corner of his eye. Chills ran down his spine. Shivering yet instantly alert, he looked for the disruption in his newly painted sea-foam green boudoir. Although gone in the blink of an eye, he had an impression of a female form covered head to toe in black. Dismissing it as his overly tired mind playing tricks and being in an old, creaky home filled with dark history, Harry drifted off.

The next morning, after his ablutions Harry questioned Kreacher about the possible shade of a lady in Black. Kreacher's down turned visage leapt up, surprise stamped on his homely face.

"The Black Lady deigned honor new master with Her presence. Master now has Her approval," the little bundle of loose flesh and wrinkles intoned in an awestruck voice. "Master is the one, indeed. Master will bring back glory to House Black."

"What do you mean, Kreacher? Who is this Black Lady?" Harry questioned impatiently.

"Black Lady was not the first Lady Black, she was the greatest, most honored one. Black Lady ensured House Black's survival, she did," Kreacher spoke hushed and reverently, as if worshipping a deity.

"I suppose if I question what she did and why that makes her the greatest, you'll throw a tizzy about my not understanding the importance of blood and the continuance of the family line and magics?" Harry questioned self-deprecatingly.

"At least Master understands his non-understanding, will fix lapse in comprehending," Kreacher responded churlishly, continuing leading the way to the intimate family dining nook.

Sighing, the young Lord made to follow the creaky old elf. It seemed he would never have the polish one born into this world achieved through years of living this life of privilege. He could try to learn all of the knowledge and etiquette, but it wouldn't be intuitional such as with Draco. He had learned at the knee from the time he could comprehend. If he remembered later he would score the Black family library to find the information about the Black Lady. If he found the information himself and assuaged his curiosity, maybe he wouldn't feel as inept as he would questioning the other occupants of the house.


	4. Passions Applenty

**WARNING:**

 **I do not own or profit from Harry Potter. I do not profit from this fan-fiction. This is a work of fiction. Adult/mature themes are present including: incest, body modification, feminization, m/m slash, m/f, dubious/non consent, etc. If you can't handle it, don't read it. Thanks.**

Two well dressed young gentleman supped on a light afternoon tea in a newly redecorated parlor. Upon first sight, the more attention catching of the two appeared to be the platinum blonde with pointed aristocratic features. However, the pale fragility didn't hold up to the more exotic, dark haired beauty. As the first mentored the later in social mores, lightly teasing when a slip up was made, an emerald green gaze would lower timidly as a becoming flush spread up high cheekbones.

Draco had always loved riling Harry up in school, not due to petty rivalries as others assumed, but because seeing him flushed and impassioned, although in anger, caused an animalistic ache in his loins and a tell-tale tightening in his rather expensive trousers. If Draco had known what a lovely ingenue he was, he would have seduced Harry years ago. Progress was coming slowly but surely; Harry Potter, newly Lord Black, was becoming a gentleman of proper deportment and breeding. Hopefully, the sponsorship and burgeoning friendship would coalesce into a much more intimate, long term arrangement. To put it bluntly, Draco very much wanted to throw the coy minx over the arm of the divan, spread those lovely thighs, and sink into that perfect, heart shaped arse. If the succulent delicacy blushing sweetly across from him needed to be courted and wooed, so be it. A single taste would not even begin to satisfy Draco's hunger, although deflowering that gorgeous body in every way would definitely be the highlight.

Standing to take his leave, Draco leisurely approached the timid wizard.

"Tea was lovely, Harry, as usual. You make a very lovely host. You're skills at pouring while conversing have vastly improved," the blond aristocrat complimented, bowing respectfully.

"Thank you, Draco. Your help has been invaluable. I'm glad Aunt Walburga recommended your expertise in this area, as well as the others," Harry earnestly responded, reaching his slender hand out for a shake.

Ignoring the faux pas, Draco smoothly lifted the offered hand to his lips, lightly kissing the surface while staring intently into Harry's flushing visage

Harry's heart was about to beat out of his chest. His lashes fluttered, shuttering his vivid eyes with sooty black curtains. A soft whine left his suddenly parched throat as the kiss lingered on his knuckles.

Standing abruptly, Draco sent one last lustful look and briefly skimmed his fingers across Harry's rapidly pounding pulse point before regretfully taking his leave, subtly shifting his pelvis whilst exiting the parlor as to attempt to find room in his tailored trousers for his burgeoning erection.

As Draco sauntered somewhat stiffly out of the room, Harry sighed softly, wishing for the encompassing heat that single kiss had brought him, shivering slightly as he thought of what else those lips could do to his inexperienced body.

His body's reaction confused him. He should talk to Walburga, maybe research in the library.

As Harry readied for bed that night, he contemplated his findings. He didn't feel quite comfortable asking Walburga about his desire for the Malfoy heir. Growing up with his muggle relatives, he had heard it opined too many times to count about the perversion of fagotry. His uncle felt as strongly about those with homosexual tendencies as he did magic users. If his uncle could see him now, panting after another 'dandified freak', he would probably turn purple and explode, literally. Holier-than-thou aunt Petunia would expound on the 'unnaturalness' of the gays and how they would burn in hell, or at the very least be cast into purgatory. Dudley would… well he would beat the tar out of Harry and leave him for dead in a ditch. Therefore, Harry was adamant he keep his sexuality to himself.

The Black Library had a ridiculously large section dedicated to the sensual pursuits, and a significant fraction of that referenced 'alternative sexuality'. The illustrations- oh how Harry had blushed- were the most erotic he had ever seen. He had snuck a few of the more overt manuals to his room for a more intimate perusal.

Harry had found a slew of useful spells, one such grooming charm he had used while in the bath to rid himself of body hair. His now smooth, hairless chest gleamed while his pink buds beaded in the cool air. The average sized member jutted out above a high, tightly compacted scrotum that was now hair free and aesthetically appealing. Smooth, shapely thighs spread wide as a pale hand cupped the tight testicles while the other teased at his silken back passage. A quick spell had cleansed and lubed the tight orifice, allowing one small finger entrance into the taunt muscle. It felt different, but oh so good as he wiggled his digit, loosening himself little by little. Eventually, the panting boy worked another finger in his rectum, scissoring it looser as to allow a third questing digit. Flexing his fingers, crooking them towards his prostate as one of the manuals directed, caused him to buck his hips unconsciously, seeking a deeper penetration.

Moaning, tossing his head back and forth, he continuously thrust onto that sweet spot that made him see stars while rolling his small sack. Closing his eyes, Harry imagined Draco hovering over his small body, legs thrown over broad shoulders as his cock plunged into the virginal opening. Draco would start slow, giving him just enough time to adjust before thrusting into his unclaimed arse with wild abandon. His unattended shaft spilled pre-ejaculate over his soft belly, beginning to pulsate as he pushed himself over the edge and came, squirting his spent passion.

'So this is why they call it la petite mort,' the satiated boy mused, contently spreading his expenditures along his silky thighs and abdomen as he sprawled among the plush bed coverings.

Dozing slightly, Harry failed to see the Black Lady watching over him, a smug smile barely discernible through the veil covering her ghostly visage. For a fraction of a moment, she had flickered into being more solidly than previously before dissipating completely, leaving a slight chill.


	5. Black Secrets

**WARNING:**

 **I do not own Harry Potter. I do not profit from this fan-fiction. This is a work of fiction. Adult themes will be found in this story, including but not limited to; m/m slash, body modification, dubious/non consent, etc.**

Laying in bed that morning, Harry was completely content. He lazily ran his hands over his soft, fair flesh, patting his flat belly. The dream had been so vivid. He had been so full of a sense of duty and family, so satisfied with his lot in life and nuptials. His husband was a distant cousin, whom also had a strong sense of familial responsibility. They were the perfect power couple, upholding the power and grace of the Black family. It was almost as if he was really living the life of a long dead Lady Black.

This was only one of numerous dreams Harry had been having since he had begun researching the Black Lady. At the end of each dream, he was descending into the furthest reaches of Grimmauld Place, the inner sanctum and ritual chamber of hundreds of generations of Blacks that came before. There he would meet with the Black Lady, and would finally have a face to go with the myth. He enjoyed watching her life play out, however, he still had no idea who she was. Looking at the family tapestry, he could only guess as to the specters identity. By the clothing, he could narrow her down to having lived in the 1800's. From a historical standpoint, that was only a hundred or so years ago. However, the world had changed more in the last century than any previously. The Black Lady would find this modern Wizarding Britain virtually unrecognizable. Gone was the Victrola, now they had the wireless. Hermione had spoken of looking into starting a Wizarding Wide Web. There was talk of standardizing the newly rebuilt Hogwarts to the specifications of the other Magical institutions. Meaning ink pens, lined paper, physical fitness, and much more.

Once again, Harry found himself staring at the Black family tapestry, comparing his notes to the many faces. Throwing his notebook in frustration, he stomped down to the kitchen to bother Kreacher for tea.

"Kreacher, could I please get some tea and biscuits?" Harry pleaded, weary and frustrated with his lack of progress.

"Master must relax. Kreacher will serve," the attentive elf stated, preparing a light tea.

"Kreacher, how can I find out more about the Black Lady? This has seriously got me stumped. I'm not the best researcher, but I don't really want Hermione digging around 'helping'," the black haired youth queried.

"Blood," Kreacher cryptically answered, "Answers found by blood, not dirty blood."

"Well that's helpful," Harry snorted, sipping the perfect, tepid tea.

"Master has little Black blood. Master needs more. Secrets for Black eyes be seen only then," Kreacher intoned.

"How do I get more," questioned the confused man.

"Mongrel Master left Halfling Master gift. Mongrel Master was swine, but Black blood is Black blood, best blood to have," was dubiously stated, the decrepit elf creaking slowly out of the kitchen and off who knows where.

Looking for answers, Harry set off to ask the only other inhabitant of the house.

"My son, in all his wisdom," Walburga enunciated wisdom with definite sarcasm, "decided he should adopt you, as you were the closest thing he would ever have for a son. Before his demise, he had time enough to announce you as heir Black, however, he died before he could finish the adoption potion. With that potion, you would gain benefits as if you were a born Black, which essentially you would be, blood and all. I hear it's quite painful. With Black blood comes Black knowledge, as Kreacher informed you. If you choose to proceed with the adoption, the family grimoire and journals would become accessible. You would still have minute Potter and other unsavory blood, although it would be minuscule in comparison to the superior Black blood. Of course, you would then call me Grandmother, it's only proper," she ended on a sniff. "If you're going to do it, the items you need will be in the family safe in the Lord's study. The password is Toujours Pur. Good luck."

Upon accessing the safe, Harry found the recipe to the adoption potion and a vial of blood. Perhaps Draco would assist him, as he was doing his mastery in potions. Although he wasn't completely sure about the adoption, he did feel a lot closer to Sirius than he ever had his long dead parents. Besides, it would just be strengthening the growing ties he already felt to the Blacks. It would also give him an excuse to visit and flirt with the blonde hunk.

Exiting the claw-foot tub later that evening, Harry leisurely toweled off in front of the full length mirror. Placing his black silk dressing gown around his petite body, he began his moisturizing regimen. It wouldn't do to have dreary, dehydrated skin. Critiquing his physique in the mirror, he began to feel slightly dizzy. Gripping the edge of the vanity, Harry looked into the face in the mirror. Feeling as if his head was stuffed with cotton, he gazed on his almost imperceptibly changed visage.

The face looking back was definitely his, but almost feminine in its prettiness. His lips looked fuller, rosier, and his already fine features even finer. Jet black hair curled down past gently sloping shoulders, locks shining with a healthy luster. The image in the mirror turns sideways to give Harry a profile view. The feminine mirror image gently cradled a flat belly, which was slightly swelling. After a few minutes, the small swelling was an over-ripe outpouring, causing the female form to look over-due with large twins. Gentle hands smoothed over the protrusion sticking out from the useless dressing gown, the silly silky scrap unable to cover the ridiculous curves. A once flat, barely A cup chest had expanded into large breasts heavily swollen with milk, resting atop the giant dome-like tummy.

Harry could imagine being this lush, ripe female, so full of new life. He could practically feel the hands running over his large, protruding stomach and the ache in his lower back from the strain on his expectant body.

As sudden as the image came on, his head cleared and the mirror showed his normal, masculine frame. Writing it off as the delusions of a baby crazed, overly tired person, Harry put his pajamas on and went to bed. For some odd reason, his hallucination of being an overly fecund fertility goddess made his cock achingly hard, causing him to rub one out in remembrance of the striking fertile form. Although he did not catch a glimpse of the specter, he could swear he heard a hint of feminine laughter.


	6. Family Matters

**WARNING:**

 **I do not own Harry Potter or anything affiliated. I do not profit from this story. Adult themes found within.**

Exiting Gringott's on the arm of his escort and now distantly removed cousin, Draco, Harry Potter, or newly dubbed Aries Sirius Black, was weak from the physical demands from being blood adopted while deliriously happy. He had actual blood relatives that spoke to him and cared for him, he couldn't be considered related to the horrendous Dursley's, and his eye sight was completely corrected. Best of all, he was now legally the son of his late beloved godfather. Although his so called friends hadn't bothered speaking to him in months, he honestly didn't feel as bereft as he once would have. The last he had heard Ron and Hermione were vacationing in Spain, Ginny was shagging her way through professional Quidditch players and affiliates regardless of gender, the rest of the Weasley's were in mourning, and all of his old Hogwarts peers were preparing for the re-opening of the school. Harry- erm, Aries- would not be returning to Hogwarts. He would be focusing on family matters, specifically finishing his home and uncovering family secrets. Aries would be getting to better acquainted with the more distant branches of his family tree via introduction from Draco.

Besides, Draco had been coming around more frequently of late, his touches and pleasantries lingering more each day. It felt nice for someone to pay him mind for his own pleasant company rather than ulterior motives. In fact, one might even call Draco a rather attentive beau. He would be taking Aries to his first Opera tomorrow evening. The tailor would be coming round this evening to outfit Aries in an entire wardrobe as now befitting his elevated station and blood status.

As the two cousins strolled from the bank, an annoyingly loud, crass voice began shouting.

"Oi Malfoy, didn't know you swung that way. Whose your pretty boyfriend," queried the unmistakably crude Ronald Weasley as he ambled up to the couple, followed in embarrassment by a weary Hermione.

At this, Draco stiffened, angling Aries slightly behind himself as if to offer some protection. "Not that you're anyone of import that I need to introduce, however, this is my kinsman, Lord Aries Black, newly named head of family Black. Aries, these are some commoners that I had the deepest misfortune of being classmates with while at Hogwarts," He scathingly replied, abruptly turning about face and gently tugging his red faced companion towards the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.

Sputtering could be heard from the red headed ponce whose girlfriend was berating him about making a spectacle and being an all around ignorant berk.

Curiosity peaked, Hermione called, "I thought Harry was inheriting the Black lordship and title of head of family?"

"I believe you will find Potter has been skipped over as there are those much more deserving with more Black blood pumping in their veins than he," Draco stated in a neutral voice, continuing towards the brick doorway.

"I sincerely apologize, Draco. I had no idea they would even be here, I haven't heard from them in months," Aries insisted apologetically, flushed and flustered.

"Its absolutely fine. You will find that individuals of a certain social strata cannot begin to comprehend proper etiquette or social niceties, I just wish they bothered saving their crudeness for the privacy of their own home, not that I would ever call this Bunker or Bale or whatever you said they call it, any semblance of an actual home," the blonde stated imperiously, nose in the air.

Aries had found Draco mostly acted like his snobbish alter ego, Malfoy, when defensive and feeling threatened. He assumed the threat was from the questioning of his sexuality.

After exiting into London, Draco side along apparated him to Grimmauld place.

"Thank you for escorting me Draco, I very much look forward to the Opera tomorrow," Aries stuttered as Draco held both of his hands, preparing to kiss the back of them in farewell.

Upon seeing the rosy cupids bow being bitten in anxiety and the beautiful blush gracing the other mans slashing cheekbones, now even more aristocratic, Draco threw propriety to the wind as he slightly ghosted his mouth over Aries' lush lips, then took his leave. The only proof of the event was the tingling in the shocked silent lips of the dark haired beauty.

After snapping out of his daze, Aries fingered his own soft lips, blushing all the harder at the thought of his crush being so forward. This kiss wasn't at all like the few he had received from females like Cho and Ginny. Draco's lips, while soft, were thinner, firmer, and so very masculine. The way he gripped his hands, as if he struggled with his desire to pull him into a full embrace. He never would have known Draco entertained such passion if the hands holding his hadn't been trembling, in what he assumed was need, as if he held himself in check from taking too much a liberty by a thread. Shivering at the thought of what liberties he would enjoy being taken with his fair person, he quickly entered the newly restored door of Grimmauld Place.

Exploring the far depths of the attic later that evening, Harry dug through long forgotten relics of the haute family Black. Numerous trousseau of many a hopeful Black bride piled along an entire wall, floor to ceiling chests in varying styles. Nose gays and delicate lace handkerchiefs littered surfaces intermingled with interesting dark artifacts and cursed snuff boxes. He was fascinated with this, his family history. Worshipful hands neatly re-folded dedication gowns from long dead Black babes and gently caressed the antique lace of finery in a variety of outdated styles. As the newly adopted, yet still orphaned, young man took stock of his inheritance, pausing to read an entry in a diary here and there, he was hit by a a deep nostalgia. Feeling goosebumps form, tears pricked his eyes as he felt a sense of deja-vu. Turning to the furthest wall, an armoire like entrance loomed. Almost subconsciously Harry approached, reaching for the dusty handle. Creaking in agitation at being thusly disturbed, the door begrudgingly opened to him. Carefully peering around the corroded doorway, his mouth dropped open in shock. Green gray eyes glazed over at the specter before him. There she was, the Black Lady. Silhouetted in her wedding finery, being prepared by dozens of attendants. A jaunty waltz played in the background as the Black females tittered pleasantly. Rather than traditional white, her gown was a dove grey with cobalt blue accents. The sumptuous gown was the epitome of the utmost fashion for the era it hypothetically came from. A low neckline emphasized by the high empire waistline, the elegant yet simple lines created a vision of grace and beauty. Opera length silk gloves teased at pale arms. Costly silks and laces adorned the obviously expensive piece. The bride was adorned in a charcoal lace veil, distorting her features. Barely discernible were the tops of luscious breasts, pushed up to be teased by a large sapphire necklace. As the bridal party prepared to depart, the ghostly vision faded, leaving a lingering aroma of the dahlia and hellebore in the bouquet.

Shaking himself to attention, Harry approached the single figure left behind. Lifting a decaying veil, he felt absolutely silly as he came face to face with a genuine dress maker dummy. The once white lace of the gown and veil had turned brown tinged with age, the brightly lit and gaily decorated boudoir cum bridal suite dusty and empty from disuse. Shivering slightly, he hummed the tune of a waltz to himself as he made haste to the more habitable parts of his home. While reposing in his luxurious bed later he dreamt of wedding nights and pleasurable romps in fields of hellebore.


	7. Phantom Pangs

**WARNING:**

 **I do not own Harry Potter or affiliations. I do not profit from this story. Adult themes and fetishes will be contained.**

Upon waking the next morning, Aries discovered his nightly emissions had soiled his pajama bottoms. Looking towards his night stand, he noted a single Dahlia, black petals still dewy. Caught between flushing in embarrassment and piquing in curiosity, he plucked the bloom up to his pert nose, inhaling the intricacies of the fragrance and rubbing the soft petals on plump lips. Stretching momentarily, he rolled out of bed and began his morning ablutions.

Sipping milky, sweetened breakfast tea and feasting on poached egg on toast, Aries perused the Prophet. Lips tightening at the front page, more suppositions on the whereabouts of the reclusive Harry Potter, the riled Lord tossed it where it belonged, the rubbish heap.

"Humph, you'd think these people would focus on something more newsworthy, like charities and such. What a waste of printing material," he sulked to an attentive Kreacher.

The wizened old elf bobbed his head in agreement, master knew best.

Over his tepid tea, Aries reminisced over his fitting last evening. Draco had set an appointment for his Opera robe fitting with the premiere wizarding French designer, Benoit. As he hadn't had the privilege to be afforded his own designer, Aries had no idea what to expect. Certainly not the foppish middle aged wizard in the baby blue jacquard over robe with matching ruffled pantaloons. Golden ringlets swinging gaily about the excitable dandy as he fluttered about Aries, the esteemed Benoit plucked and clucked at the simplistic casual wear in disapproval. After vetoing many of the more grandiose and ruffled robes (monstrosities), Aries had approved of a tasteful yet exquisite set of sumptuous dress robes. The cheeky Frenchman had given him a lewd wink, handing over a taupe business card to the blushing ingenue before exiting the home, plump bottom wiggling suggestively.

Finishing the dregs of tea, a blushing Aries ascended to his boudoir to attend his toilette.

As he was much too excited about his first Opera visit, Aries decided to investigate the extensive basements before he had to primp for his evening. With rolled up shirt sleeves, he set to work. The first room he came upon was a dilapidated game room. After a quick lumos, he noted a mildew encrusted billiards table sitting forlornly in the center of the room, one broken leg tilting the table towards the cracked tiles underfoot. Passing quickly through an archway, the next room was in even worse disrepair. Broken furniture filled the entire room, numerous doxy nests and corpses littered amongst it. Spying a nearly hidden door in the far corner, Aries shoved various pieces around to make a path through. Upon reaching the hidden entrance, the rusted door knob wouldn't budge. After trying an alohamora, and a few other lesser known unlocking charms, he was about to give up. As he turned to walk away, the door eerily creaked open a sliver. Peaking through the crack, Aries was somewhat disappointed.

Fully opening the heavy door, the room was practically bare. The prominent feature of the room was an odd chair centered above a floor drain. To both sides of the spartan room were counter spaces with numerous storage cabinets. Opening a few drawers, Aries noted threadbare wash clothes, some blankets, basins, and numerous items he couldn't begin to describe. Turning back to the chair, Aries suddenly had the urge to sit in it. It really was an odd chair, it resembled a type of deck chair. That is if half the seat was missing. Tentatively settling onto the very edge, the inquisitive young man hesitantly leaned fully into the sturdy chair.

While being unpadded, the solid wood seat wasn't too uncomfortable. The back had a pleasant pad and headrest. Settling his legs on the separate rests, Aries found the chair perfect for its purpose… which was what exactly? Puzzled, he silently contemplated the lever on the side. Debating internally if he should pull said lever, he sighed in defeat, his curiosity winning out. Pulling the lever reclined the chair, hinges creaking. The concept was interesting, it reminded him of Vernon's muggle lazy-boy. Continuing to pull the lever, Aries suddenly found his legs spread brazenly and knees pulled almost to his chest. As the chair allowed him to assume the proper position, the room subtly began to brighten. Brow furrowed as he wondered over the purpose of such a chair, Aries tuned out the hushed whispering that had begun. As the whispering grew louder and closer, green eyes glazed slightly and the room had taken on a hazy quality. He felt a tight pang travel up from his groin, shooting up his abdomen. Groaning slightly, baritone turning alto in surprised pain, Aries attention was drawn to a figure huddled off in the corner, stirring a steaming cauldron. The witch, for that was what she was, was dressed in antiquated healers garb.

"Milady, you'r almost ready to push," enthused a female voice from somewhere below.

Looking down between suddenly nude, feminine thighs spread widely and a ridiculously bulged belly, Aries noticed a woman who was obviously a Black relative with what seemed like her entire hand shoved in what must be his vagina, checking his cervical dilation.

Not only was he extremely uncomfortable, a new contraction caused him to moan out in a high pitched whine. Gripping his contracting belly, Aries could feel the tightening. Panting heavily, the contraction finally ended.

"On the next pain push Lady," the attendant instructed firmly.

Feeling the next contraction, Aries put his chin to his chest and pushed, feeling a stretching pain in his vaginal canal. As the contraction ended, he gasped loudly, not prepared for another to immediately start. Grunting with effort, he pushed again, feeling a slight increase in pressure. The contractions were non stop, wearing down an already weary laborer. After carrying around his burden for nearly 10 months, he was more than ready to meet his baby. As said burden neared the vaginal opening, Aries felt unbearable pressure.

"Lady, I see the head, you'r almost there, one big push," enthused the perfectly coiffed coach.

Screaming in agony, Aries pushed through the ring of fire, the newborns head descending to the outside. It didn't end there, however. Large shoulders caught on the rim of his abused sex, spreading his vagina obscenely as he pushed through the indescribable pain. In a gush of birth fluids and blood, the shoulders were birthed and his attendant was allowed to pull the squalling babe completely free. Taking a rest and panting heavily, Aries babe was laid against his soft breasts, the attendant putting his protruding teat to the tiny searching mouth. Rooting for the nipple, the babe latched on directly, suckling hungrily.

"It's a boy, Lady," she congratulated.

As his babe feasted on nutrient dense colostrum, he cold feel his uterus continue contracting, trying to birth the placenta. Aries began pushing, finally the afterbirth was expelled into the waiting receptacle the healer gripped. The placenta was then taken to the counter to be inspected and added to potions for mother and baby.

Coming back to the present, Aries sighed longingly. He still faintly felt the rush of love of a mother for her baby, and heard a lingering ghostly cry. Releasing himself from what he now knew as the Black birthing chair, Aries retreated to his bed for a much needed nap.


	8. phantom of the Opera

**I do not own Harry Potter or affiliations. I do not profit from this story. Adult themes and fetishes will be contained.**

After waking from his delicate repose amongst the silken trappings of his bed, Aries luxuriated in a scented bath. Running pruned fingers over sensitive nipples sent shivers down his spine and heat straight to his hardening member. As he reached down to take the matter in hand, a disgruntled Kreacher popped in.

"Master Aries needs be getting out, be only two hours left to dress. No time for fooling," he croaked, looking at his master in disapproval.

Groaning in exasperation, the master of the manor clambered out of the tub and into a warm, fluffy towel. Slathering perfumed oils and creams into still damp flesh, Aries eyed the moisturizers interestedly. He knew it would feel amazing rubbed onto his needy prick and stuffed into his hungry hole.

With a quick snap Kreacher snatched the jar of cream, "No time for fooling, master needs preparing."

Sighing forlornly, Aries continued his primping. Settling a silken dressing gown over slim shoulders, he continued out to his dressing room table. Resting upon the stool before the mirror, he began his preparations.

Silken Black tresses brushed and smoothed, Aries glimpsed a flash of blue dangling off the gilt frame of the mirror. Upon closer inspection it was a velvet, midnight blue ribbon. Running elegant fingers across the smooth expanse, he methodically tied his luscious locks at the nape of his slender neck.

Admiring the effect, a slim digit dipped into a pot of rose balm, bringing a dab to circle his plush lower lip. Rubbing his lips together, Aries had the sudden image of a thick cock circling his moist plump pout, seeking entrance into it's honeyed depths.

Panting slightly, the lusty lord approached the dress robes laid out by Kreacher. Settling one dainty foot onto the cushioned stool, he proceeded to roll one silk stocking up a smooth, fair leg. After repeating with the opposite leg, Aries guiltily looked over a shapely shoulder to admire the fine figure he made reflected in the mirror. Long, coltish legs encased in black silk stockings, topped by a plush, heart shaped arse, smooth back with contrasting black curls gliding down, what a pretty picture he made. Bending over slightly, pale globes parting, he looked like a decadent little courtesan. Taking another dip of rose balm on his finger, he circled the tight pink hole nestled between his milky buttocks. Pushing the digit slowly into his virgin arse, the stinging pleasure/pain made Aries bite his lip.

Moaning like a slattern, he plundered further, adding a second digit. Beginning to bugger his needy hole on his fingers, he slipped his free hand to fondle hairless bollocks. As he was about to blow his load, an evil little demon popped in to smack his arse with a rolled up newspaper.

"Kreacher told master no fooling!" The elf muttered in disgust, continuing to hit the jiggling cheeks without pause.

Instead of inhibiting the forthcoming orgasm, the smacks caused Aries to spurt seed all over the brocade of the cushion beneath him.

"Master has made a mess," Kreacher tsked, snapping the mess away.

With cheeks burning in shame, Aries allowed the poor elf to finish dressing him.

"Kreacher, why didn't you lay out my pants?" Aries questioned.

"Masters panties ruin lay of robes," the elf intoned with finality, buttoning the masters waistcoat.

Blushing, Aries slipped his arms into the black brocade overcoat. Spritzing his pulse points with a light scent, he decided upon the gold and onyx cravat pin.

Admiring the finished ensemble, he determined he looked every inch the wealthy lord. Leaving the master suite, Aries methodically descended the staircase, gloved hand settled daintily upon the banister. Kreacher had just ushered Draco in from the entry way. Stopping abruptly, his escort was nearly gaping, mouth slightly open. Grey eyes flashing in desire, Aries entrance had the desired affect.

"Dearest Aries, you are breath-taking," Draco complimented.

"You clean up well yourself," tittered a pleased Aries in response as he gently laid his hand upon the extended arm of his handsome blonde beau.

Exiting Grimmauld, the couple disapparated with a crack.

Approaching the Theatre Royal at Drury Lane, wizarding side of course, Aries eyes were widely flitting amongst the glittering gentry in their finest. They were stared at in turn, curious peers questioning who the dashing date was of the debonair Draco Malfoy. Many a lady commented on how well the contrast of the dark beauty complimented the pale haired Prince. More often than not the gentlemen muttered to themselves, wondering how Malfoy always got the choicest pieces. Surely he was enjoying ruining that tight young arse.

Draco led Aries up to the Malfoy box, of course the prime location in the theatre. Numerous privacy charms layered the private box, allowing many a Malfoy over the centuries a private moment or two. As he settled his partner into a plush settee, the beginning chorus of Wallace's _Maritana_ sweetly intruded. Lightly resting a gloved hand atop Aries' slighter one, Draco settled in to enjoy the Opera. As he had been plenty of times, he preferred to watch the emotions play across the expressive face of his companion.

During the interlude, suited staff brought forth refreshments in the form of champagne and canapés. Draco took great enjoyment placing the treat on Aries soft tongue with an ungloved hand, allowing the moaning man to suckle the lingering flavour from his slender fingers. Partaking a sip of champagne, Aries leaned in to press a fervent kiss upon him, sharing the sinfully exquisite taste. As the kiss deepened, Aries was drawn onto Draco's lap, knees spread widely around to either side. Rucking up silk robes, hands touching exposed flesh, the couple heatedly explored each other. Trailing open mouthed kisses down lovely neck had the raven haired male gasping for more, eyelids fluttering. Latching onto the pale flesh, the Malfoy lordling suckled and nipped, marking the tender tissue. Cracking open heated green orbs, his vision subtly went hazy

The Black wondered why these fair Malfoy men always had to mark their territory. What possessive brutes they were. Nary a care for a ladies reputation or good name. Thank Goddess for glamours. The blondes kisses ran down over a plump bosom, the fair expanse heaving with gasps and girlish moans.

Talented fingers slicked up and down a juicy, ripe cunt literally dripping with desire. Gathering the dew, thick digits circled a clenching entrance before thrusting deeply, crooking towards a very pleasurable bundle.

"What a needy pussy you have, my dear, just begging to be ruined," enunciated a melodic, aristocratic male voice.

"Don't tease, Malfoy," commanded a moaning, lilting soprano. Thrusting wide hips against questing fingers, thumb harshly rubbing into a swollen button, the Black came with a husky moan. Through slitted eyes the date on the pamphlet was read, 15 November 1845.

Coming back to himself, Aries bemusedly brushed off the ghostly vision, determined to enjoy the pleasures to be found.

The last half of the opera was completely missed by the couple, whom were distracted touching and tasting. As the crowd noises intruded their love nest, they regretfully parted, standing to applaud the cast. Hastily exiting through the bustling crowd, Draco escorted Aries back to Grimmauld.

After a tender goodnight, Aries contentedly prepared for bed, missing the pamphlet situated on his dressing table, proclaiming the premiere of Wallace's romantic new Opera, _Maritana._


End file.
